A matter of feeling
by MissAmelie
Summary: A collection of #Wonderbat shots [Drabble series]
1. Home

**Chapter 1: Home**

Home is where the heart is.

It was impossible to bury a small smile as he thought about going home after patrol, and not feeling miserable.

For once, he was happy to go home, especially with her.

Diana was his home.

* * *

 **Notes:**

This is my first attempt to write in a language that is not mine.  
I hope my mistakes are tolerable and do not compromise the meaning of history.

It is always good to remember:  
The characters do not belong to me.

Many thanks to my dear beta SaultNPeppah

* * *

 _"I love you as_ certain dark things are to be loved, in secret,

between the shadow and the soul", **(Pablo** _ **Neruda)**_

* * *

 **Gotham City**

Diana allowed herself to lean back as far as possible, sliding gently into the passenger seat of the Batmobile, grateful for the feeling of the cool leather against her skin. She quickly adjusted, rectifying her back's rigid posture and stretching her legs until she became comfortable. She quickly closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and smiled softly, finding her inner peace.

The doors locked, activating the automatic restraints, and the Batmobile made its journey to the cave. Bruce looked over at Diana and, likewise, took a deep breath, closing his eyes to give him a moment of peace. Granted he wasn't as at peace as Diana, considering the amount of dark things he had seen, he still couldn't suppress the relaxation that was invading him. Especially after the night's events, which had resulted in their reconciliation and her agreeing to come back home with him. He was relieved when he had her safe and sound near her side, and nothing was going to disrupt that.

Bruce could not avoid the physical reaction of his body; his spine and shoulders straight and erect, much unlike his arched back and drooping shoulders. He breathed deeply, giving him a sense of tranquility, as he desperately attempted to regain control of his emotions. He glanced towards Diana, which provoked a few timid smiles. He had tried to deny the feelings for her, but after tonight, how could he keep such strong feelings from reaching the surface.

He had tried to prevent the rush of emotions, but it was as useless as trying to to calm a tsunami. He had never experienced such a relief after such a tragedy, but with the love he had for Diana finally restored, he couldn't help but enjoy such a positive result.

It was impossible to bury a small smile as he thought about going home after patrol, and not feeling miserable. For once, he was happy to go home, especially with her. Diana was his home.

 **Gotham City || Wayne Mansion**

They emerged from the Batmobile. Diana looked around the Batcave, noticing the bats crowded along the roof, among the stalactites, chirping in the otherwise quiet cave.

She had hoped the Batclan would be there, waiting to greet them after the situation they had endured, but the cave was empty. Even Alfred made no appearance, even though she was certain Bruce had informed him of his return. However it didn't take long for her to realize he had requested everyone remain out of the cave for the night, allowing him to retain the natural order of his life that was isolation, loneliness, and the denial of any kind of emotional support. She knew he would keep things to himself, unwilling to let anyone help lessen the pain he felt.

Diana glanced over at Bruce, who was now walking towards the locker room, his cowl already off his face. She let out a sigh, instantly feeling any tension she had subside. She watched his face, taking note of his expression, which would have seemed blank, neutral, to the untrained eye, but the deep relationship they shared allowed her to see past the mask he wore. She was able to see his true emotions, even though he had spent years burying them under layers upon layers of shields and masks; she could see past the walls he had put up.

She watched him walk, his shoulders raised, his spine straight. However, he remained relaxed. He knew he could no longer carry the burden of guilt on his shoulders,

His face reflected nothing, and Diana smiled, as she took in the image of Bruce. His eyes weren't blank, his jaw was not clenched and his chin was not raised, trying to ignore the feelings like he used to. He wasn't withdrawn as usual.

Was he completely at peace? No. His personal demons would not allow that. However, the absence of any emotional conflicts left room for at least some tranquility, which he reveled in.

Bruce caught sight of the thermos that sat on a silver tray placed on the corner of one of the many countertops in the dressing room. 'Coffee' he thought, 'Thank God.'

Diana began to strip off her uniform and walked past Bruce as she made her way into one of the showers. She stepped into one of the showers, and stared at Bruce, who stood across from her, gently leaning against the counter. He quietly drank his coffee, watching her with a fierce gaze.

She smiled when she realized her naked body had caught his undivided attention. Without a word she quickly let the door to the shower close, allowing her to bathe in some privacy.

Diana let out sigh, letting the water run over her body. She was tired, but remembering the look Bruce had given her before she shut the shower door, triggered a rush of desire she didn't know was possible.

She turned in the shower, allowing the freezing water to hit her shoulders with the perfect amount of force, massaging her tight muscles. She let out a small groan of satisfaction, unable to contain herself, as the water continued to massage her muscles.

Diana thought of the sounds she was making, something so simple yet it added to the erotic situation while paired with her naked body, and how they were affecting the man a few meters away from her.

She listened as he stood, taking in a deep breath, allowing his chest to swell. He opened the door to the shower and stood, watching her, taking in her naked body.

She looked him over, the muscles of his body evident through his batsuit. He was perfect and his body was mesmerizing. She could only close her eyes and imagine what he looked like without the suit.

Diana looked at Bruce, her face full of desire. Her pelvic region became uncomfortable as she ached for Bruce's familiar touch. His breathing became labored and dense, much to the contrary of the exhaustion he had exhibited hours ago.

Her intense gaze was undeniable proof of the desire she had for him. He slowly pressed his lips to hers, before his bit her lower lip, his appetite for her increasing exponentially. He heard Diana release a small moan and he gave her a lascivious smile. Had she not known the sincerity behind it, she would have assumed it was his playboy persona coming out.

Diana continued to kiss him, her hands roaming his body, and although she knew she wasn't at her physical best, she gave up any thoughts of rest.

The vigorous sequence of Bruce's kisses completely deprived her of any cognitive function. The power his body wielded over hers robbed him of reason, common sense, control of his actions, and his free will, leaving her in possession of these.

[De-meta-human genetics has exponentially increased the development of these senses. Which had consequently made her sensations likewise multiplied. To say that, in Diana's eyes, Bruce was an immensely more extraordinary hero than anyone who sees him as spectacular, is not just a romantic metaphor.]

The natural sexiness of his baritone voice caused a wave of pleasure to pulse through Diana's body, especially when he continued to whisper his desires into her ear. He began to whisper in multiple languages, knowing Diana would be able to understand him, as well as be impressed with his vast knowledge.

"Je veux te baiser jusqu'à l'aube," he whispered, causing Diana to shutter, letting her mind translate what he had just said. _I want to fuck you until dawn_.

Bruce continued to run his hands over her naked body. With each touch Diana experienced sensations she could not explain. She felt like she would explode when he began to concentrate on her erogenous zones.

Diana kissed Bruce once more, her body reacting to his every taste and scent. His saliva was sweet, remnants of coffee still on his tongue. The sweetness mixed with the salty taste of his sweat. The scent of his after shave filled her nostrils; his scent. It was the smell that assaulted her senses everytime they made love.

She gazed up at Batman, still dressed in his armor, much like a warrior still ready for battle. She scanned over every detail of his suit, knowing his costume couldn't hide who he truly was.

She ran her hand along his arm, unable to hide the excitement that overcame her as she outlined the countless scars on his muscular structure that she had committed to memory. She grew more excited, knowing what was to come, however it wasn't purely a sexual desire. It was the thrill of knowing a warrior like him. Admiration for the man he was, enchanted by this man.

(...)

Diana did not remember how she ended up in the couple's suite. The deep, passionate kisses she and Bruce had shared had left her disconnected from her surroundings. She did not remember him stripping off each piece of his batsuit, leaving him only in a pair of sports shorts he wore beneath the armor. She did not remember him barging into the shower and claiming her lips in a kiss, before turning off the shower and carrying her naked body through the house up into the bedroom, even though everyone would be up and about.

Bruce could not remember why he hadn't seen Alfred's relieved smile as he saw the two make their way up the stairs, however he was lucky his butler hasn't seen him, who was half naked, and Diana who was as bare as the day she was born. He was also lucky Tim, Damian, Barbara, and Dick, who had all been waiting in the dining room for breakfast, hadn't seen the two as they made their way to the bedroom.

"Bruce," Diana began in between kisses, "I need to breath.' Bruce closed the door to his bedroom urgently, before kissing Diana once more. The sound of her laughter muffled by his mouth assured him that things were fine between them, that they weren't crossing any boundaries that would ruin the relationship they had built. "I thought you were tired," she said. "What was in that coffee?"

"I'm," he began, "My body is…." He was unable to form a complete sentence, seeing as how Diana was naked in his arms. "I haven't slept in forty six hours," he confessed. "And just before you met me, I was on edge and-"

Diana jumped out of his arms and hugged him, placing her head on his chest. "But I need you Diana. I want you so much. My heart, my mind, my body. I need to convince you not to go." He wrapped his arms around her and let out a content sigh. "I need you now," he whispered, his body responding to hers pressed against him.

What had followed was the most passionate night of sex either of them had had. Bruce had barely placed Diana on the bed before he was inside her, and Diana understood why. He needed her, and she needed him. He had this sense of urgency, but she loved him, and she knew he needed this.

Diana understood his frenzied actions. He was trying to show his love; love that she wanted to accept.

Diana looked at him and smiled, silently letting him know that she would never leave him. She wanted to reaffirm his love. She wanted to let him know they loved each other completely.

She wanted to heal his wounds through affection. Affection, understanding, and passion. But she would never understand the lack of respect and the lack of admiration he sometimes displayed.

But all the urgency had become irrelevant when they resumed their love making a few minutes later. This time there was no hurry. There were dozens of whispers of "I love yous", said with loving caresses, loving glances, and tight embrasses.

Their movements were a perfect rhythm, provoking pleasures Diana's body had never experienced before, giving her the confirmation that she was his; all his. That thought alone made Bruce experience things he had never felt, the pleasure overwhelming his body. He was comfortable, as he moved over her, his face looking down at her smiling. She looked at his handsome face, reciprocating his smile, and he couldn't help but continue his movements, letting her know he loved the way she was looking at him.

They knew this love was not a sacrifice. Diana had learned that Bruce was able to give love and affection just as well as receive it, contrary to what everyone else thought.

They quickly finished their passionate lovemaking and took a shower, washing away the grime and sweat from their long day, and longer night. After they bathed, they crawled into bed and fell asleep, completely unaware they had intertwined their hands in the process, as if they were afraid of losing each other in their dreams.

* * *

 _'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone_

 _Is where you go when you're alone_

 _Is where you go to rest your bones_

 _It's not just where you lay your head_

 _It's not just where you make your bed_

 _As long as we're together, does it matter where we go?_

 **(Home - Gabrielle Aplin)**


	2. Seduction

**Chapter 2: Seduction**

They remained silent for a while, looking at each other.

His eyes met hers and they continued to stare at each other, unable to break the longing look they each shared.

* * *

 **Notes:**

It is always good to remember:  
The characters do not belong to me.

Many thanks to my dear beta SaultNPeppah

* * *

"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride.

So I love you because I know no other way", **(Pablo Neruda)**

* * *

 **Wayne** **Mansion || Gotham City**

"Oh God. There she is." The whispers coming from the party guests began to grow louder as the honoree arrived. The flashes from the cameras were bright, making the room glow brighter - if that were possible.

The press, who had remained outside the hall following the statements of the Mayor, Gotham Police Chief, and the Gotham PD commissioner, continued to call out trying to gain the attention of the Greek goddess.

Bruce, unable to help the look of wanting that flashed across his face when he stared at her, continued to watch her. His friend, Veronica "Ronnie" Vreeland, a well known socialite, noticed him staring and began to frown.

"Brucie, dear," she said, reprimanding him for being unable to keep his eyes to himself. "Try not to be so Bruce around her, okay?"

Bruce turned to face her, his gaze leaving the beautiful Grecian woman, and raised an eyebrow before she continued. "We don't want to call the ambulance to fix your broken arm, do we? Or, you may have problems with her boyfriend, Superman."

Bruce groaned internally and rolled his eyes. "You know a lot about the League, don't you Ronnie?" he asked sarcastically. He quickly flashed her a smile and blinked, trying to maintain the facade of Bruce Wayne, playboy, as he shook his head. "I promise, I'll be a gentleman." He flashed her another smile.

He turned away from Ronnie and set his glance back at the Amazon at the end of the room. He continued to listen half-heartedly to his redheaded friend speak, however he was invested on keeping an eye on the woman that was currently stealing all the attention in the room.

She looked absolutely beautiful. Her hair was partially pulled up on the left, letting it cascade down the right, leaving her seductive shoulders exposed. She wore a beautiful Greecian white dress, long and elegant, that fit her perfectly. The top had a slight silver hue, matching her bracelets, which only reflected beautifully against the lights in the hall and the flashes of the paparazzi's cameras.

She smiled graciously, as she attended to the needs of the people around her, and danced around everyone with ease. Bruce watched as she met with the crowd of police officers, politicians, and government officials, greeting each with such formalities and carefully listening to the needs to each individual. He watched her movements closely, watching from afar as she posed for official photos, her smile lighting up the room.

She continued to meet with people, interacting with such enthusiasm everyone around her felt happier, enjoying their time at what would have normally been a tedious event, only needed to keep up appearances.

After an hour and a half, she had gone through meeting everyone, and had finally found herself alone. Bruce, who had been watching her, wanting to find an opportunity to approach her, stared, his face scrunching when he noticed she looked sad and disappointed. 'Maybe she's expecting someone,' he thought to himself, jealousy quickly consuming him.

He watched as she began to walk out of the room, walking out to the balcony, away from all the commotion of the hall.

Bruce made his way to her, walking out of the hall and joined her on the balcony. She was alone, looking out at the moon, admiring the light it cast. He watched her for a moment, finding himself staring at her bare shoulders, unable to help the thoughts of his lips on them. She was stunning, and he couldn't help himself.

"Is the party not to your liking Princess?" he asked, finally making his presence known.

She smiled when she heard the all too familiar baritone voice, wonderful memories washing over her, as she thought of him. She quickly turned to him, her smile widening when she saw Bruce.

He was seductively leaning against the wall, his gaze never leaving her. His hands were casually in his pockets, a dazzling smile on his his face, and his eyes were focused and seductive, which would make any woman blush.

His bow tie was undone and hung around his neck, giving him a lustful look; it was as if it had been undone by women in search of his kisses. She could only imagine there was at least one or two women staring at him, gasping at some corner of the room at the sexy man that stood in front of her.

They remained silent for a while, looking at each other. His eyes met hers and they continued to stare at each other, unable to break the longing look they each shared.

He was the first to move, walking over to her and taking her hand in his. He gently rubbed his thumb over her wrist, carefully caressing he skin above the end of her bracelet.

She watched his thumb run across her wrist. His rough, calloused hands, against her soft skin, made her shiver. She looked up from her hand in his, meeting his eyes, giving him a smirk.

He looked at her, his heart stopping when he saw her smirk. It was something she only gave him; a look all reserved for him. He had first noticed it when they had danced in Paris, as he let her see his secret identity without intending to, unconsciously trusting her with one of his biggest secrets. He continued to notice how she would only look at him like that, and when they had been turned into children by Morgan Le Fey, he knew it was that look that was going to be the death of him. Every time he saw that smirk grace her face, his heart stopped, butterflies filled his stomach, and his breath caught in his throat. But he was stubborn, even more so than her, and he wouldn't allow himself to be happy.

He didn't know why he wouldn't allow himself to love, or be loved. And if asked, he wouldn't have been able to give a logical reason as to why he couldn't allow that emptiness in his life to be filled. Instead, he attempted to fill that void with a string of one night stands and unsatisfying parties, wanting to escape the loneliness that plagued him. However, tonight was different. Tonight he wanted to escape that loneliness.

In an act of pure impulse, Bruce pulled her into his arms and leaned against the wall, hiding the two of them from the prying eyes of everyone in the party. He wanted her alone, and this was the easiest way to do it. He quickly took a deep breath, breathing in her shampoo, and let out a content sigh, finally letting his heart experience the only happiness his heart has known in the last three years.

He quickly let out his breath, which smelled of scotch like he had been drinking all night, but Diana knew better. It was all an act; she knows he has had merely a sip to keep up appearances.

She relaxed into his arms, letting his strong embrace envelope her body. His muscular chest pushed against hers, not in an intimidating way, but more in a protective manner, as she reached up and found the lapels of his tuxedo, pulling him close.

He touched her face, wiping away the deceptive tear that had fallen, and watched as she closed her eyes. He contemplated his next move, unsure of whether or not to give into his urges. Without another thought, he closed the gap and kissed her, tightening his grip around her body.

Diana unconsciously pressed her hips into his, moving in a way that only lovers would. She could feel the walls around him fall, letting her in; she would be the one to make all the pain go away. They would have nothing holding them back now. They would only have love; inordinate and intense love.

Bruce quickly pulled away, bending slightly to place his lips near her ear. "Dance with me," he whispered. His breath brushed against her ear, making him grin, before he turned his head to see the wonderful woman smiling back at him.

The Amazonian Princess nodded with a grin, standing upright, before she allowed the Gotham Prince to lead her back into the hall, onto the dance floor. Bruce took a quick look away and clenched his jaw, nodding his head to himself. The room was now staring solely on the duo, watching as they gently swayed to the music. Jealous eyes glared at the two, watching as Bruce placed his hand on the small of Diana's back, and began to cautiously trail lower.

He met her eyes once more, and his grip on her tightened. "Bruce," she began, clearing her throat. "People are staring."

Bruce let out a small grunt. "Let them stare," he said with a low growl, his hands tightening his grip, pulling her closer. He felt Diana shudder against him as he moved his lips to her ear. "But that shouldn't be a surprise to you, Princess," he said, his hand resting gently on her rear. "Your face is the only face I see when I'm with another woman."

Diana took a deep breath and lowered her arms, letting them rest on his chest. She looked him in the eye and bit her lower lip, trying not to let his confession effect her; she was failing miserably.

They continued to dance, stealing glances and soft touches, before the song ended. Diana pulled away from Bruce and looked him in the eye, watching as he silently asked her the question both of them wanted. Without a word, she gave him a small nod, and he led her off the dance floor.

(…)

Not a single word was uttered as the two walked through the empty halls, the noise from the party growing more and more silent as they moved farther away. Bruce glanced over to the woman besides him and saw she was chewing on her bottom lip, the act betraying the confidence she displayed in her stride. He smirked to himself. she was nervous.

He opened the door to his bedroom for her, and she slipped past him, walking into the room. She looked around the room for a moment, taking in the large bed and the decor, before she turned back to the doorway, watching as Bruce joined her in the room and shut the door. They stared at each other intensely, silently asking each other if they were ready for this next step; they were. That didn't mean Diana wasn't nervous.

However, before she could rethink her decision, Bruce walked up to her, reached behind her, and unbuttoned her gown, before letting it fall off her body, the fabric pooling at her feet. He took a step closer to her, his hand reaching up to remove an article of his own clothing, as he gave her a smile. He continued to undress himself until he was left only in his boxers, standing before the Amazon unashamed.

Diana's lips formed a small smile and Bruce's blue eyes flickered down to her bare body. He quickly leaned in and nuzzled his nose against hers, pausing before he pressed his lips against hers in a soft kiss. The short hair of his beard brushed against her soft skin and she scrunched her face at the feeling, being used to feeling the bare skin of her lover.

Bruce pulled back slightly and pressed his forehead against hers, smiling softly. "Your lips taste so sweet." He looked her in the eyes, his beautiful blues mirroring the color of the sky.

Diana smiled back at him and said nothing. Instead she traced his lips with her tongue, which he opened for her eagerly, groaning when she brushed her tongue against his.

Bruce moved his hands down, lightly touching her body. He smiled when he felt Diana's body respond to his touch, goosebumps forming wherever he touched. His hand continued to trail down until they stopped on her breasts. He gently swiped his thumbs over her nipples, grinning when she let out a gasp. Before she could respond he pushed her onto the bed, and gently crawled on top of her, before claiming her lips in a kiss again.

He pulled away from her lips and dipped his head head down, gently kissing her neck, as he pushed her breasts together. He continued to move lower, before he stuck out his tongue and began to run it from her left nipple to her right, eliciting a small moan from Diana. His blue eyes were steady as he placed his lips over her right nipple and began to gently suck, the moans coming from Diana's mouth getting louder.

Diana's breath became labored and her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she tried to hide a sigh. Bruce switched to her left nipple, a line of saliva following his lips, and he trailed a hand down to cup her center. Bruce quickly let go of her nipple with an audible 'pop' and grinned up at her. "You are so beautiful, Princess," he muttered, pressing a kiss to the middle of her chest.

"Bruce, please," she said, desperately wanting to feel more pleasure from Bruce.

The Prince of Gotham laughed against her skin, before he glanced up at her with a smile. "I plan to savor it," he explained. He quietly moved down and pressed a kiss to her navel, before dipping down and kissing the top of her mound. "Who knows when you'll let me taste you again."

Bruce began to nibble and leave love bites across Diana's beautiful and soft skin, marking it as his own. He dipped lower and licked his lips, before he inhaled the scent of her arousal. He pressed his large hands against her thighs and gently forced them open, before dipping his head again and running his tongue up the length of her center, stopping just before the bundle of nerves that would send her wild. He listened to Diana whimper and smirked to himself, before he repeated his actions a few more time, each time eliciting a louder moan from the woman beneath him.

Bruce buried his face in her folds, causing Diana to buck up in surprise, but he held her down and continued his motions, making Diana moan. He continued his ministrations, holding her hips down as she got closer and closer to her release, until Bruce finally reached his goal, continuing to move his tongue as she came with a loud moan.

Her body began to twitch with the aftershocks of her climax, causing Bruce to smile, proud of his accomplishment. He quickly kissed her mound once more, before looking up at her, groaning at the sight of her. Her skin had a layer of sweat over it, giving her an angelic glow. Her blue eyes were wide and her lips were swollen and red. She was breathtaking.

"Take me Bruce," Diana muttered.

Bruce clenched his jaw as he watched her take her bottom lip in between her teeth, waiting for him. He quickly tugged off his trousers and slipped in between her legs, looking into her eyes for approval. She nodded and he slid into her, trying to hold in a groan when he felt her around him.

Diana took in a sharp breath as Bruce pushed himself all the way into her; he was a big man. Bruce kissed her lips once more, finally letting out the groan he had been holding in when he was deep into her. He kissed her lips once more, hissing as he felt her clench around him. She was not as tight as an untouched woman, but he could tell she had only been with one man; Him.

He pulled away from Diana and closed his eyes as a wave of pleasure hit him. Diana felt so good around him. "Kiss me Bruce,' she said, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Bruce nodded, leaning down to capture her lips. "I always obey my Princess," he replied, kissing her once more.

The two made love deep into the night, each moaning each other's name with every climax endured. For the two of them it wasn't just about pleasure. No, for them it was a love that was real, plural and unreasonable, yet exciting and full of adventure.

The world was a cruel and hostile place. Even nature, seas, mountains, jungles all with a power of their own, demands a state of alertness. Without love, our existence fails; we have no place to take refuge.

However, Bruce and Diana knew love, and they knew they could take refuge with the love they had.

* * *

 _The world was on fire and_

 _No one could save me but you_

 _It's strange what desire make foolish people do_

 _I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you_

 ** _(Wicked Game -_ _Chris Isaak_ _)_**


	3. Broken

**Chapter 3: Broken**

I remember how I will sometimes join her in bed in the late hours of the morning, wounded and tired, both physically and emotionally, after difficult patrols.

I know I do not want to hurt her. I don't want to let her into this dark world, so I push her away, ignoring the small part of me that selfishly wants her to myself.

But I cannot keep doing this.

* * *

 **Notes:**

The characters do not belong to me (Unfortunately)

Thanks to my beta AJ ( SaultNPeppah )

* * *

"One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is love."

 **(Sophocles)**

* * *

 **Park Roll || Gotham City**

East End District, Crime Alley Street, Park Row.

A punk, a couple, a child.

The firing of a gun, the river of blood spilled, the tragedy announced.

He can feel the ripple of horror catch up with him as the punk's eyes recognize the darkness, briningin the Bat to live, covering the single thread of light the lamp brings, partially illuminating the alley. I, The Dark Knight, swallow the light, feeding the darkness.

The bandit's body trembles, as if he is convulsing. His hands shake and he drops his weapon, as if an indication of his conscience anticipates his irrevocable condemnation. He wants to look away, close his eyes, like a child trying to rid the fear of the monsters of childhood, but he cannot.

Jonny "Little Mouse" Larson feels the weight and agony of a prison without bars. He knew fear and violence as a boy, having run away from home at the age of nine, fleeing from the beatings of a drunken father. He had overcome the fear of running away, turning to drugs since the age of ten, sustaining his addiction with petty thefts and small-scale trafficking, yet he is unable to escape me, the Batman. Because there is no escape from terror, as I corner him, ready to deal my own form of justice.

He moans a prayer, crying out for God, but the terror in his mind reminds him God does not interfere with the affairs of Hell. He feels his heart petrified as I, the guardian of Gotham, land before him. I can see Little Mouse is sure I, the Batman, amd one of the Knights of the Apocalypse, ready to condemn his soul to the eternal fire of hell.

(...)

For over thirty years, Park Row had seen better days, much like all the streets and avenues in Gotham Center, which had gone through a period of dizzying economic growth. Even the abundant financial capital now lures the mob into the city and unleash the violent wave of corruption, violence, and madness that has grown exponentially ever since.

The glamor of its prime soon gave way to poverty, crime, and debauchery. Park Row is like a lady: well dressed, well educated, refined, young and progressive, having grown up in a politically, economically, and socially successful Gotham. But with a nickname such as Crime Alley, the first lady of violence opens its wings of cruelty.

Crime Alley, born from The Park Row Tragedy, as the newspapers had called it, sealed Gotham's sentence, embracing the darkness, bathing in the blood of my parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne. At the hands of Joe Chill, Crime Alley had become ground zero, the beginning of the end of the city that was home to many such as myself; A place to live and thrive.

The actions of Chill destroyed the hope of better days again, killing the benefactors who could restore Gotham. Nevermind he had killed the parents to an eight year old boy, destroying the hopes and dreams of a childhood, resulting in my crude and warped perception of the world. He had ruined my life and countless others', killing two of the few left to heal the city of the pathology of corrupt villainy that plagued my city.

In Crime Alley, the darkness was established, planting the seed of vengeance and the blood of righteousness spilled irrigated the soil, causing it to sprout; Establishing the guardian of Gotham, the Batman.

I was born in a valley of tears and blood. I am a son of darkness, pain, and despair. The fruit of irrevocable oath of revenge, sealed with wrath and revolt in the brute state, unbreakable, inseparable, and indissoluble. I am the Dark Knight. I am the night. I am the revenge. I am the Batman.

(...)

The scene that lays ahead of me makes me sick, my stomach churning at the sight of the mutilated man laying in the street, his body soaked in blood that I cannot discern if it is his or anothers. Either way, it does not matter. He's another victim of Gotham's crime laden streets; It's the same street that last saw my parents alive, and where the Batman was born.

I can't help the feeling of helplessness that overwhelms me as I stand here, surrounded by the same walls that witnessed my parents draw their last breaths, their lives cut short by a thief, who wanted nothing more than a quick fix and some cash. Even now, with the analytical mind I have forced myself to have since becoming Batman, I cannot process every feeling, every emotion, that is running through my head. It is too difficult for me.

Commissioner Gordon stands there, staring at the body, his hands on his hips as he releases a deep sigh. He asks me a question, his fourth since I joined him in the alley, but I remain silent, unable to answer in fear my voice may crack and reveal what I've tried my hardest to hide. Usually my silence is common practice with other officers in Gotham, but never Jim.

Jim is the only one, besides those who know my secret identity, who can get answers out of the Batman. They may be monosyllabic, but I have never denied him answers. That is, unless I disappear while he is still verbalizing his questions, never giving him the opportunity to finish asking what is on his mind.

He asks another question, searching the whites of my cowl for an answer, before he lets out another sigh, realizing he isn't going to get any verbal response from me tonight. He quickly backs off in silence, pulling his men away from the perimeter bounded by the yellow caution tape, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I watch as he gives me a subtle nod, giving me his consent to investigate the scene with a moment of privacy, which I am grateful for. Gordon is the only one who trusts the Batman fully, and for that I am truly grateful.

I continue to study the body at my feet, crouching to get a better look. I run my eyes over the dead man, mentally cataloging little details I find. My eyes glance down the alley and my eyes narrow. There is a bitter taste trapped in my throat and I suddenly find it difficult to swallow the lump that has begun to form. Everything inside me hurts like hell when images of that fateful night start to surface.

(...)

 _Bruce, young and small, stands happy, swinging an imaginary sword. "On guard villains!," Bruce shouts, imitating his favorite hero; the hero he has just seen on the big screen during a private screening of Zorro._

 _"Careful Bruce," Thomas Wayne says to his son, as he distances himself from he and his wife._

 _"Slow down, Honey. We're not as fast as you are," Martha Wayne says to her husband affectionately. She places a hand on Bruce's shoulder, calming him for the moment._

 _Bruce looks up at his mother and offers her a smile, before looking over at his father. "I want to be Zorro when I grow up Dad," he says excitedly, swinging his imaginary sword once more, jabbing the air in front of him._

 _Thomas laughs at his son's statement, happy to see the young child so excited. He stares at Bruce, his world, and gives him a large smile. If he could freeze this moment, he would. He glances over at his wife, his smile fading when he sees the worried expression plastered on her face. "What is it Dear?" he asks, stopping in his tracks._

 _Martha looks at the alley in front of them before she turns to look her husband in the eye. "Thomas, my dear, are you sure we need to cut our way through Crime Alley?" She shifts her eyes back to the alley and bites her lip nervously. Something about tonight feels terrible._

 _Thomas gives his wife another smile, trying to reassure her things will be okay. "We must have more faith in people, Martha. Let them prove their worth," he retorts. He enters the alley, knowing it is the fastest way to the street. He doesn't have time to react before a man comes out of the shadows, his gun drawn, his head held low._

 _"All of you, quiet," he says, shivering as he points the gun at young Bruce, who begins to cry, unable to understand what is going on. He watches as his father stands there, his hands curled into fists, as his mother grips his shoulder tighter. "Let's start with the lady's pearls," the mugger says, "Hands up and do not try anything, or I'll shoot." He jabs the gun towards Bruce, causing the three Waynes to flinch._

 _Martha and Thomas place their hands in the air, surrendering any kind of control over the situation. "Do what he says Honey. We do not want problems, and we can replace the necklace." Martha gives her husband a small nod, before reaching down to pull the necklace over her head. She carefully hands over the necklace, flinching when he snatches it out of her hand._

 _"Smart lady," he says as she shoves the necklace in his jacket pocket. He watches as Martha raises her hands, not wanting to upset the mugger, before he turns his attention, and his gun, to Thomas. "Your wallet and watch. Hand them over."_

 _Thomas nods, pulling his watch from his wrist and handing it to the mugger. He carefully reaches into his pocket and retrieves his wallet. He begins to hand it over when it slips from his fingers and falls to the floor, startling the mugger, who squeezes the trigger, firing the first shot. It hits Thomas._

 _The mugger, knowing he has made a mistake, knows he cannot leave any witnesses. He fires another three bullets into Thomas, before he turns his gun to Martha, who has begun to scream. He fires another two bullets, both hitting Martha, who falls to the ground besides her husband._

 _The mugger points the gun at Bruce and fires, his face falling when he realizes he is out of bullets. He quickly flees, leaving a scared and crying Bruce in the alley, his parents laying on the floor, bleeding to death. He falls to the floor next to his father, watching as Thomas stares at his wife, using his last breath to whisper her name, before the light disappears from his eyes, leaving the eight year old alone._

(...)

They do not understand my behavior, why I do what I do. They do not understand my isolation, my persistence to distance myself from love and relationships. They do not understand why I am what I am; Why I am the Batman.

My parents' death was not clean, nor fast. It was slow and agonizing, and it still haunts me to this day. I can still remember the smell of their blood on my hands; It is terrifying. Joe Chill, the man who ended my childhood, the man who killed my parents, must have been sent from hell to ruin me for life.

There is not a day I do not have nightmares of that nefarious night. I can remember every detail, can still feel his demonic breath, combined with a mixture of alcohol, cocaine, and methamphetamines, permeating the air around me. My father had tried to argue, but the coldness and cruelty in Chill's eyes had left no room for much dialogue. He was on edge and out of control, and once he made that mistake, firing that first round, there was no turning back.

After stealing my mother's necklace, he shot her twice, hitting her in the stomach. I still remember her blood splattered on my face as she fell to the ground. Her death was not quick and I remember watching her choke on her own blood. Nothing hurt more in my life, as I watched my own mother die, slowly, the pain and desperation on her face as she looked at me with sad eyes.

The only reason I lived that night was because Chill had chosen a revolver, with only the capacity to hold six bullets; six bullets he had pumped into my parents. I will confess, there is not a day I don't wish I had died with them that night, although some part of me did die with them.

After that night, I no longer cried. Before Chill took my parents' lives so effortlessly, I had never felt weak. After that night, I felt useless, and weak, until I was only impelled to enforce justice, wanting to help those who could not help themselves. There were no more room for tears or sentimentality. I have a mission.

Today the maniac in Gotham has brought me back to Park Row, and he is going to pay. That's all I can say, as my mind is running ragged with thoughts, but I know one thing. Tonight I am broken. "Diana, please be at the manor," I say silently, saying a prayer to the gods I do not even believe in.

(...)

I had assumed the tropical storm, which had been announced on the weather forecasts of local and national televisions, would reach Gotham ahead of schedule when I felt the warm breath of the summer breeze on my jaw, its warm dry touch without moisture hitting my skin. From the top of St. Paul's Church I keep watch of the East End, crouching among the gargoyles as a creature of the night, just as they do.

My memories of Diana are brought to the surface. My Diana. My Princess. I want to refute yet another of my numerous reasons against a romantic relationship between us, knowing it has terrible implications, but I cannot help but think we are perfect for each other. In times like this, she is my savior.

I remember how I will sometimes join her in bed in the late hours of the morning, wounded and tired, both physically and emotionally, after difficult patrols. I know I do not want to hurt her. I don't want to let her into this dark world, so I push her away, ignoring the small part of me that selfishly wants her to myself. But I cannot keep doing this.

I let out a curse, feeling the void of affection and comfort that my relationship with Diana can only bring me. She gives me a sense of protection that I never knew I needed, because I had always been the one to protect, never the one that needed protecting.

I close my eyes and I can see her there, remembering our last encounter a few days prior, when she had met me in the Batcave. Her eyes close as she rests her head on my chest. She doesn't ask any questions, knowing I do not want to talk, as she uses her middle and fingers to trace a trail over the scars of my body, starting at my chest and moving down to my abdomen. There is a subtle delicacy that emits feelings other than desire. My eyes open, and the image of her disappears, before I release a small sigh. I want here here again. I need her tongiht, more than ever.

 **Wayne Manor || Gotham city**

The light above me barely affects the darkness of the cave. Tonight, she is darker than than usual, which i find comforting. I prefer to be in the shadows, hiding, doing my best work in the dark of night.

Diana, Wonder Woman, floats silently toward me, her target, hidden in the dark corner that houses the batmobile. I can hear the rustling of her loose black hair. God, I love her hair. It always smells of herbs and jasmine, and always soothes me, like one of those tease with chamomile and fennel that Alfred likes to serve. She is not in uniform and the feeling of tranquility when seeing her off the battle order makes me relax my shoulders slightly.

She wears a small flowing white dress with thin straps that gently touch her shoulders, brushing the clavicle of the woman I love like a painting of Botticelli. I stare at her, as if in a trance. The dress she wears, cotton and simple, fee, like her and her spirit, is perfect for her, displaying her perfectly sculpted thighs.

"Diana," I say, nearly inaudible.

She nods, understanding what I am asking. She knows the Batman is a man at war, "a warrior" as she says. She doesn't know my fight isn't whether or not to done the cape and cowl, fighting for a city that seems hopeless. No, my struggle is within myself, between the man and his emotions.

However, she remains. She is there for me, the only woman who understands what I am going through, even when I have not uttered a word. She stays there, watching as I am crouched in the corner, compassion in her eyes.

She only approaches when she feels she will not invade the space I have given her, wanting to calm the crushing pain in my chest. I don't tell her when to come, she always seems to know when it's time to come to me. She's always known. She is the goddess of the night. She knows warriors, as she is one of them herself.

She walks slowly, making her way to me, placing her hand on my face. She gently touches my jaw, which is left exposed, even though I continue to wear my cowl, trying to hide the tears that have begun to fall. Tonight is the first night I have cried in years; I have only cried a handful of times since that night. I feel the warmth of her hands and I curl my face towards her, knowing I can trust her with my emotions; I can trust her with my everything. She carefully removes my cowl, allowing her to see me fully.

She stares at me, taking in my eyes, red and swollen, before her eyes soften. She embraces me, wrapping her arms around my body in an inexplicable way that seems to harbor her entire body, even though she is physically smaller than me. We both stay there, trapped in a silent hug, for more than half an hour, until my cries finally become audible.

"My hope died that day, Diana," I say, feeling her grip around my body tighten as my cries come faster. My tears flow like a river that has broken through a dam, falling like salty rain onto my cheeks and down my face. "It's too late. I cannot be saved. That's why I sacrifice myself night after night. I am full of scars Princess. I cannot be healed." I feel her shift and I can hear her take a deep breath, trying to keep her breath from shaking. "But, perhaps if I can stop another villain...if I can save another child, I can save my soul."

Diana does not answer my unspoken question. Instead, she sits on the bench in the locker room, pulling me down to join her. She begins to unbutton, unzip, and clip pieces of my suit, helping me by peeling off parts of my nightly uniform. With each piece she pulls from my body, her eyes never leave mine, holding my gaze with such intensity.

She finishes undressing me, leaving me in my black boxers, before she stands and leads me out of the room. We take the flight of stairs up into the manor, before we make our way to my room, both needing the time to breathe and think of what we need to do.

(...)

The water in the tub is lukewarm, and their are candles surrounding the tub, creating a soothing environment. I now realize she has prepared this bath specifically for me, knowing I would be stressed when I arrive. She holds out her hand, telling me to enter the tub, and I can't help but stare at her.

I quickly pull off the last article of clothing covering my most intimate body part, unable to contain the amusement on my face when I notice Diana is blushing. I enter the bath, immersing myself in the water until it hits my chest, letting out an exasperated sigh as I take comfort in the relaxing water.

Diana puts shampoo in her hands and begins to wash my hair, running her fingers through my hair, her hands working in a slow rhythm. I close my eyes and my lips curl into a smile, my eyes still full of tears at the memories that rush to me. My mother used to do this to me when I was a child, and for once, I imagine I am back to being a child enjoying the soothing actions of hands running through his hair.

Diana breaks the silence with her voice, a delicious whisper, emitting a poem I recognize as Tennyson.

 _"There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:_

 _There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,_

 _Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—_

 _That ever with a frolic welcome took_

 _The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed_

 _Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;_

 _Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;_

 _Death closes all: but something ere the end,_

 _Some work of noble note, may yet be done,_

 _Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods._

 _The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:_

 _The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep_

 _Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,_

 _'Tis not too late to seek a newer world._

 _Push off, and sitting well in order smite_

 _The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds_

 _To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths_

 _Of all the western stars, until I die._

 _It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:_

 _It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,_

 _And see the great Achilles, whom we knew._

 _Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'_

 _We are not now that strength which in old days_

 _Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;_

 _One equal temper of heroic hearts,_

 _Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will_

 _To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."_

She gently rinses my hair and my body, asking me to stand so she can dry my body. After the bath, she leads me to the bed, climbing in and placing her back against the wall. I lay my head in her lap and let sleep wrap its hand around me, my eyes getting heavy, as I let myself be consumed by my thoughts.

I love this woman. I am not a romantic man, I will never be, but I would do almost anything for her and she knows it. Me, Bruce, a small and broken man. An old tired Odysseus, returning home, full of war scars. Back to your love, back to her. I feel Diana's hand on my back as she gently strokes it, and for the first time since I have been eight, I feel complete. I am home.

* * *

 _I hurt myself today_

 _To see if I still feel_

 _I focus on the pain_

 _The only thing that's real_

 **(Johnny Cash – Hurt)**

* * *

Notes:

\- Diana recites an excerpt from the poem Ulysses (Lord Alfred Tennyson)

This is an attempt to show one of the reasons that led me to elect Bruce and Diana as one of my favorite pairings - a preference forged by the affectionate memories in the heart.

It is a very particular perspective, which shows how a warm-hearted warrior can warm the cold, broken heart of another and help him piece together by understanding him, bringing him comfort, being a beacon of hope.

To me, broken mirrors, like Bruce and Selina, only reflect pieces. They do not bring real comfort to each other, they only serve as an emotional crutch, a support not to crumble. It's almost a sentence, with no hope of improvement.

Broken mirrors confuse love with passion, attachment to shelter and the comfort they give each other is not, but convenience to find an equal, who will not judge him, not to fight for a love that brings them happiness (because , deep down, imagine that no one could love someone damaged).


End file.
